Friday, March 12, 2021

9th Anniversary of Rob's death

Remembering Rob Wallace….

Today, March 12, 2021 marks the 9th anniversary of my late husband’s suicidal death.  The grief is no longer a bottomless pit of pain. Although, there remains a dull ache that echoes in the holes of my heart, once filled by the love of my husband.  The loss remains. 

Did you know that Rob’s favorite place in the whole world, was Uganda? He loved Uganda!  The people, the country, the rain. He loved to play his soprano sax in churches that I ministered in as he ushered in the presence of god. He especially loved the melodic haunting dirges his saxophone made when he played in the rain. Rob would intentionally choose to join me on the “country club” portions (electricity and hot water on demand, porcelain flushing toilets, hotels, expat homes and good food) of my ministry trips to Africa. He didn’t like roughing it… He always left going “up country” or “in the bush” part of my trips for me, alone. 

One of Rob’s greatest desires was to purchase some property and build a home, so that we could retire here in Uganda. He didn’t get to see that desire fulfilled. Somehow, he believed the lie that the anxiety, depression and the emotional pain he experienced, would never go away… He answered yes to the dark seduction of suicide, which stole his hopes and dreams. This pains my heart.

I was remembering, in my mind’s eye, what Rob looked like. His soft eyes, his slightly twisted smile and the little wrinkles around his ears from maintaining his embouchure playing the saxophone. I then tried to hear his voice… the way he called my name when he felt endearing towards me or the way he laughed at his own jokes… Tears welled up in my eyes at the realization, I couldn’t recall what his voice sounded like. I felt a sadness and almost a sense of guilt because I couldn’t hear Rob’s voice in my memories. How could this be?

I am reminded that grief is the loss and mourning is the remembering.  If mourning is the remembering… will I forever mourn?

“Winter” in Uganda

Winds laced with Sahara sand

cloaking the morning sunrise

stealing glorious colors 

normally stretched across the horizon

Instead, a breath like fog

leaves behind 

delusions of rain

shrouding Lake Victoria’s 

picturesque view

with this sense 

of ominous change

© Kimberly Anne Wallace 2021

Morning has Broken

Waking to sounds 

of distant rolling thunder

Smelling pummeling rain 

Cleansing fog like winds 

of sahara dust 

from hills and valleys

leaving sighs 

of green freshness

and pungent red earth…

Oh how I have missed 

Ugandan mornings

© Kimberly Anne Wallace 2021

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

8th Anniversary of Rob's Suicidal Death

Gentle yet incessant breezes
and saltiness of spitting tears
railroad my thoughts,
my feelings,
my sense of being
to a place
of emotional saturation
that few
have the Grace
to stand
in a truth poured out,
not often caught

Deep desires of
one's own humanity
to be known
and desperately
yet all the while
misnomers sweep away
silent hope
as time ebbs and flows
like watercolors
swooshed on paper
far too wet
left in its wake
the faintest hint
of color
to the pain of a life
breathed and forsaken
taking the gift
of what might have been
to a place
of this unrequited
scourging question,

© copyright Kimberly Anne Wallace, March 11, 2020

Thursday, August 15, 2019

August 15, 2019

Taking time out of my ministry and travels in hopes to finish writing this long awaited book! Is it in vain?

It is unbelievable that almost 8 years have passed since Rob's suicidal death. One might presume that the hard tearful grief is over and the time of mourning could be non existent. Not quite...

I have been pouring over written content, attempting to not take things out of timeline or context. In doing so, I feel like someone has put gorilla tape on my scarred wounds, pressed it in place with an iron setting on wool, as if to meld the tape into my very being. In the midst of  this grueling experience of rewrites and editing, the revisited pain has been like ripping the gorilla tape, my skin and my heart off of the depths of my soulful emotional being.

But then, this morning I received this from a friend:

"Good Morning Kimberly,
My cousin posted his 19 year old son committed suicide just 2 months ago and his folks found him. So tragic, so sad, such a loss of his potential.
It was devastating. He dealt with a chemical imbalance, but seemed to have things under control. I just hate Satan and how he lies. I told my cousin about your experience and your book and they said they want a copy. Your pain will bring comfort and healing. God bless you as you continue on this journey to help heal others.
Of course I thought of you and this blog is so good.
Be encouraged to finish your book. Sadly there are too many families who need to hear your words.
Thinking of you today.
Praying for you today."
And so my spirit's consensus is that I MUST push through, slog on and complete this writing...

Wednesday, November 14, 2018

Grey clouds ride
on hooves of thunder
sheets of rain
cover early morn
yet daylight prevails
on the breath of dawn
as today's wind
rustles once silent leaves
of the Mvule tree
on the side of a hill
laying claim to peace
in the solace
of a life denied

© November 15, 2018 Kimberly Anne Wallace

Sunday, March 4, 2018


Very recent excerpt from my book - "Indescribable - Beyond Survival":

"I've been here on the Suncoast in Australia just south of Brisbane and  north of Sydney,  enjoying some few days of rest and the beauty that surrounds me here. Walks on the beach, swimming in the ocean, sunset cruises and wonderful times with old and new friends.


I was hit sideways with grief and mourning for my late husband, Rob. I still miss him, immensely... These waves have become so far apart, that when one rolls in, it takes me by surprise.

It's like when you're in the ocean, floating peacefully in the lull of gentle waves. You see and feel the gentle rocking tide. Then seemingly from nowhere, a wave that doesn't look very different, rolls in, breaks over you, and water gets up your nose and in your lungs. The strength of the undertow catches you by surprise, pulling your body down as you tumble and  scrape the sand. It hurts. The sand gets into crevices and places on your body that you can't imagine it could.

I realize after 6 years, I have this delusion, that the grief from my late husband's suicide, will get easier... Don't get me wrong, I am NOT a WALLOWER! I am NOT STUCK in the pain and the grief of my late husband's suicide.

People try to console, and cajole, fearful of the pain and the tears that manifest. But I will tell you this, you don't know what you don't know, until you've walked through the death of a suicide...

It's shocking, because it DOESN'T get easier!   It becomes DIFFERENT..."

The 6th anniversary of Rob's suicidal death is coming up on March 10th. The 1st anniversary of my mother's death is coming up on March 21st. I covet and appreciate your prayers to cover me during this time.

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Intro to "Indescribable" the book!

Have you ever loved someone so much, you thought, if you ever lost them it would completely rip your heart out into a million little shards and turn your life so inside out, and upside down that you'd never be able to live without them? And then suddenly, one day they're no longer in your life. They're dead.

At first, the tears, the pain, and the aching in your whole body and soul makes you think: I will never survive this, I will never survive this, I will never survive this!! The swirl of  pain filled emotion envelopes you and you believe nothing, nothing, nothing can ever console you.

That's how I felt when my husband killed himself. I thought I will never never never be able to get through this. Oh God! Will the pain ever stop? Would my heart ever stop feeling so twisted, empty and wrung out and having nothing to hold onto?

I truly did not think I would ever make it through this horrendous nightmare of a traumatic tragedy. But here I am, five years later and I am walking through this with some semblance of sanity and peace. So can you!

©  Kimberly Anne Wallace June 13, 2017

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Letting go of what might have been...

This past Sunday evening on September 18,  2016 around 10 o'clock in Uganda, with some VERY dear friends, at long last I carried out an extremely difficult task.

On the side of a hill overlooking Lake Victoria under the moon and stars, we spoke about Rob in hushed tones in the silence of the night and remembered him well...

We remembered his sense of humor. We remembered his passion. We remembered his Kenny G, Holy Ghost saxophone playing. We remembered what an amazing man he was when he was in his right mind. We remembered how much we loved him...

At first tears were skant because of laughter and remembering beautiful memories... And then rivlets of tears began to flow as I said goodbye to my marriage and the past that I once shared with Rob. It was time to let go of and say goodbye, to all the hopes and dreams that might've been, in our once hopeful future...

I shared some of the very dark times right after my husband's suicide... How there were times that I momentarily believed the lies of the enemy -  that if I would have, could have, should have, done a multitude of many things, he might be alive today. Those were fleeting lies running along the silent halls of my imagination... I have cast them down!

I have spread the remainder of my late husband's ashes in a world and country that he loved dearly, at the base of a Muvule tree, under a waning moon.

Most of Rob's ashes are interred with his mother and father in Kelowna Canada; while some of his ashes went floating down a creek in Portland Oregon at McMenamin's brewery and event center... Kelowna was where he grew up, Oregon is where we met and married and Uganda was one of the most favorite places in his world...

My heart still aches for the unrequited love his suicidal death can never quell. Four and a half years later, I still miss him with my whole being...